


once in a while, two people meet

by wearealltalesintheend



Series: The Welters Challenge 2019 [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Old Gods, Pining, Welters Challenge 2019, and they both need a break, but that's nothing news, quentin and alice are tentatively friends again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/pseuds/wearealltalesintheend
Summary: Alice pins him with an icy glare, jutting out her chin as she crosses and uncrosses her arms over chest. “I’m not upset,” she scowls, still standing in the middle of the room, “I’m pissed. I spent all morning tearing mistletoe from the doorways of the Library.”“Mistletoe?”Her anger crumbles, cracking into a worried, desperate confusion that Quentin would know. Seriously. He’s seen it every day in the mirror for the past couple weeks. “It’s not even Christmas!” She complains, striding to sit down beside him in the couch, “I don’t know– something is happening and I…” she trails off, huffing and giving him a helpless look.“Oh my god,” Quentin breathes, unbelievably relieved not to be alone in this clusterfuck, “it’s happening with you too? I’ve got– Alice, there were rose petals in my bed! Rose petals! And they kept appearing as I threw down out the window!”*or, the Powers that Be decide to intervene on the soap opera drama that is Quentin's life and to no one's surprise make it worse, Alice is planning a secret road trip that is definitely not the same as running away, and everyone else is more or less caught in the crossfire.For the Welters Challenge prompt:Destiny





	once in a while, two people meet

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have an excuse except I really wanted to include more weird gods in the equation and also it's fun to see in how many ways I can ignore the season finale

 

So. Things have been– Quentin’s gonna go with weird even though he’s not sure that’s the best word for the situation.

 

Like, it’s been super weird, as in _supernaturally_ weird, and he would be appropriately worried if he wasn’t so tired from throwing buckets and buckets of rose petals out of the window of Marina’s apartment before anyone gets back from wherever the hell they go.

 

He’s just collapsed on the couch, bucket blessedly, _finally_ empty at his feet when the front door is thrown open and Alice marches inside as if on a warpath, a couple of petals stuck on her hair.

 

“You look, hm. Are you okay?” He ventures to ask, valiantly soldiering on through the lingering awkwardness after their last break up. Admittedly, this one has been the most amicable and least awkward yet. “You look a little, well. Upset?”

 

Alice pins him with an icy glare, jutting out her chin as she crosses and uncrosses her arms over chest. “I’m not _upset,”_ she scowls, still standing in the middle of the room, “I’m _pissed._ I spent all morning tearing _mistletoe_ from the doorways of the Library.”

 

“Mistletoe?”

 

Her anger crumbles, cracking into a worried, desperate confusion that Quentin would know. Seriously. He’s seen it every day in the mirror for the past couple weeks. “It’s not even Christmas!” She complains, striding to sit down beside him in the couch, “I don’t know– something is happening and I…” she trails off, huffing and giving him a helpless look.

 

“Oh my god,” Quentin breathes, unbelievably relieved not to be alone in this clusterfuck, “it’s happening with you too? I’ve got– Alice, there were _rose petals_ in my bed! _Rose petals!_ And they kept appearing as I threw down out the window!”

 

“The mistletoe– it kept blooming too!”

 

They look at each other, wide-eyed in their shared curse, but the relief of finding someone else going through the same weird ass stuff is fleeting. The worry lasts a lot longer. “What the fuck is going on?”

 

“I don’t know,” Alice purses her lips, back stiff and hands primly closed into fists on her lap, “I’ve never seen anything like this before and I can’t see _why_ someone would do this.”

 

“It’s just– there’s no _point,”_ he says, definitely not whining, and closes his eyes with a distressed sigh as he hears a low humming from the kitchen that can only mean whoever is fucking with their lives is at it again. “I really don’t wanna go check, but we’re going to have to, aren’t we?”

 

Without deigning to answer him, Alice gets to her feet and cautiously approaches the kitchen. Not about to let her face whatever is there alone, Quentin huffs and follows, acutely aware they're being the dumb white people at the beginning of every horror movie ever.

 

She reaches the room a second before him, stopping at the doorway and while Quentin can’t see what’s in there, he sees it makes her frown in confusion. “Is that– are those _peaches?”_

 

_“Hell no,”_ he hisses. The roses and the mistletoe and the weird ass romantic soundtrack randomly playing, he can take it, but _this?_ It’s too personal, too woven into Quentin’s heart, and just the thought of anyone else _knowing_ about it is–

 

It makes his skin crawl, alright?

 

“Quentin? Are you–” the clear sound of the front door unlocking cuts through the apartment and Alice snaps her mouth shut. If the laughing and the shushing is anything to go by, Eliot and Margo are back. “How bad is it?” She asks instead, eyeing warily the bowl of peaches and plums adorned with a neat, red bow on top.

 

_“Very._ Shit, okay, help me get this to the bathroom, come on.”

 

Quentin has always been naturally clumsy but with the added pressure? He’s an absolute _disaster_. Fruits roll to the ground and Alice has to chase after them, giving up halfway and kicking them under the couch before shoving Quentin and the bowl into the bathroom and closing the door behind her just as the front door opens.

 

“What now?” She whispers, arms full of peaches that definitely would not fit in the currently full bowl in Quentin’s hand. Outside, Margo is cackling at something Josh said.

 

“We flush them?” Quentin suggests, helplessly looking around the admittedly large bathroom, then thinks back to the way the pot is always full and adds, “bowl and all?”

 

The noise Alice makes is half-disbelieving and half-indignant. “We can’t– it would clog the pipes!”

 

“Magically make them disappear?” It’s worth a shot, he supposes.

 

But Alice shakes her head. “With magic the way it is the risk of it backfiring is too great.”

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing more than ever that this time’s after-world-saving fuck-up had been straight-forward like the last ones. No magic would really come in handy right about now.

 

“Oh no,” Alice interrupts his spiral into despair with a desperate whimper of her own, “Kady’s here too.”

 

“How do you– _oh,”_ a mistletoe is curling on the doorway, flat on the wood and seeming unsure which way to go. This explains– well, not _everything,_ but a few things. “Should we… wait it out?”

 

“No, we can’t just _wait,_ they’ll notice something’s wrong,” she says, throwing a worried glance towards the door. The mistletoe perks up hopefully. Shuddering, Alice shrinks back. “Okay, no. You go out there and distract them while I take care of this.”

 

“What? No– _why?_ Alice, wait, don’t! Alice–” Quentin wants to explain how terrible this idea is because Quentin can’t, for the life of him, come up with a good lie, let alone a believable explanation to _this,_ but Alice is having none of it. She seizes his arm and pushes him out of the door, leaving him alone to face the sudden crowd staring at him like he grew a second head. “Hm, hey, guys? How was the, uh, how was the trip?”

 

Josh, whose hands are busy holding way too many shopping bags, raises an eyebrow. “Nevermind us, you okay there, man?”

 

“Yes, Q,” Eliot takes a step in his direction, frowning concernedly, and Quentin instinctively takes a step back, hitting the bathroom door. The hurt that flickers through Eliot’s eyes is unmistakable and Quentin _hates_ it, but how does he explain that it’s not that Quentin wants distance between them, is just that Alice is hopefully succeeding in flushing a shitton of fruit down the toilet and he’d rather not have Eliot and the others barging in on that? “You’re looking a bit upset, is all.”

 

Quentin kinda wants to snort at that echo from earlier, but he manages to bite back on the hysteria and keep it relatively cool for a little while longer. “What? I’m fine,” he tries to play it off with a laugh, even though it ends up sounding too strangled, “it’s– everything’s fine.”

 

“Is that why it looks like a flower shop vomited in our curb?” Margo asks, hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. Shit, _shit,_ shit.

 

“Flower shop?” He repeats weakly.

 

“Yeah, there was a bunch of tourists taking pictures for some reason,” Kady nods, entering the room with a beer and Quentin refuses to look back to check if the mistletoe is deciding to cross to this side now. “Blocking the fucking way like assholes.”

 

In the silence that follows as they all look expectantly at Quentin for some sort of explanation, a loud yelp drifts from the bathroom behind him, undeniably Alice’s, and he closes his eyes, resigned.

 

“Is there a reason Alice is hiding in the bathroom, Q?” Margo says dangerously calm, and while Quentin has no idea why she’s so pissed, he figures he’s had a long enough run as it is. At least, whatever is fucking with them can’t follow him into the afterlife.

 

So– and he’s not proud of it, okay? – he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “there was a spider!”

 

“A spider?” Eliot repeats slowly as if testing out the word to see how well the lie sticks.

 

“Yeah!” Quentin nods furiously. He might as well commit fully to this now. “It was– El, it was huge, like, it has to be Australian or something. Marina must have gotten it for some ritual and it got loose? I don’t know, but I cornered it in there and Alice is trying to kill it.”

 

“You’re scared of a spider?” Kady sounds unimpressed, dropping down on the couch, “and you sent Alice to kill it for you?”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did.”

 

Margo barks out a laugh, and Quentin is almost believing it’s crisis averted for the time being when there’s another, more panicked yelp and the door behind him flies open, shoving him aside, and Alice is stumbling out, slamming the door closed behind her. “There’s a giant spider in there!”

 

“No shit,” Margo snorts, eyeing her amusedly, “weren’t you going to kill it?”

 

“What?” Quentin, hopefully subtly, elbows her in the ribs, “oh! Right, yes, I was going to do that, but. Only I did not do that. It escaped.”

 

“It escaped?” Josh looks horrified, shuffling away from the bathroom.

 

“It crawled up the wall,” Alice informs them, adjusting her glasses before stepping away herself. “I’m not going back in there, someone else kills it.”

 

“How about we let it have this bathroom?” Quentin tries, still confused about whether or not there really is a spider. Although, by the wildly panicked look on Alice’s eyes, he’s more inclined to believe it. “We have more bathrooms, right?”

 

“This is the one with the bathtub, though,” Kady points out, not that she’s bothering to even try to be helpful here, oh no, god forbid.

 

It’s in this moment of cacophony, while everyone is speaking over each other that Quentin happens to look down.

 

Big mistake.

 

Because looking up at him with too many eyes is the spider, attempting to crawl up his left shoe.

 

And like any other sensible person, Quentin is understandably _upset_ with this situation. He acts accordingly, of course.

 

He _screams._

 

A lot of things happen, then.

 

First, Quentin kicks the spider without thinking, sending it skidding to the middle of the room and towards the others.

 

Second, beside him, Alice startles and tries to go back inside the bathroom, probably deeming it safer now that the spider is no longer there, but finds it locked for some reason.

 

Third, Josh shrieks and jumps up to the couch, causing Kady to smack him and curse loudly.

 

Fourth, Margo and Eliot scatter, scrambling in the direction of the kitchen.

 

Lastly, silence once again falls on the apartment as they all stare down each other, hoping someone else will take the lead, and the spider skitters around, exploring its new territory. Silently, Quentin wonders if they can find another place here in New York with the same rent.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Eliot huffs, rolling his eyes, and charges out of the kitchen with a broom in hand– like he’s not still recuperating, like he hasn’t had major surgery less than two months ago, like he’s not giving everyone a heart attack right now. “Move aside, I’ll deal with it.”

 

Both Margo and Quentin dive in his direction with a resounding _No!_ and Margo tears the broom from his hands while Quentin fusses over the bandages. “Stay still,” he bats Eliot’s hands away, glares up at his eye roll, “we need to see if you ripped any stitches. Idiot,” he adds under his breath, not quite managing to sound anything but fond.

 

“I’m not crippled, you know,” he complains, sighing long-suffering, but oh-so-graciously allowing Quentin to check on him. “I can kill one spider without falling over.”

 

“Where did you even get that? I didn’t know Marina even owed a broom,” Quentin mutters, satisfied nothing is bleeding. He’s tracing the bandage outline over Eliot’s shirt and Eliot is standing stock still under his fingers, and Quentin is suddenly aware how close they are.

 

He clears his throat and steps back.

 

Behind them, Margo is trying to get Josh to take the broom and kill the spider, while Alice is inching along the wall, trying to make her way around it.

 

As it turns out, Kady is the one to take action. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a spider,” she says, and then proceeds to squish it under her boot. “Okay, ew, it’s grosser than I thought.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” Alice breathes, staring at Kady with an awed look for a fleeting second before she shakes herself out of it. “I’m still not cleaning that, though.”

 

“Don’t look at me,” Kady makes a face, peering at the sole of her boot and scrunching her nose in disgust, “I’m setting these on fire.”

 

“I’m hungry, is anyone else hungry?” Josh asks loudly, already picking up the car keys from the counter, “I vote we go to that Thai place two blocks down.”

 

“Penny and Julia can handle this, right?” Quentin feels obligated to say, and rescues his jacket from the couch.

 

“Sure,” Margo breezes past him on her way to the door, “they weren’t here for the killing, they can stay for the cleaning.”

 

Sound logic, if Quentin ever heard it, and it’s all they need to murmur their agreement and leave the dead body behind for Julia and Penny to find and hopefully clean after.

 

*

 

Since the Spider Incident, life goes on as normal, which is to say, not normal at all.

 

Quentin has to rid the house of mistletoes at least five times in the past week, and the peaches appeared only once again in the kitchen, but never after he threw the whole thing out the window, and twice his phone _accidentally_ called Eliot while Quentin tried to tell Julia how fucked he is. There was also the epic disaster that was the time the wall between their room disappeared and the place turned into a master bedroom, king-size bed and all, for an entire afternoon.

 

From what Alice told him, she had been putting out similar fires all week too, and between that and wrangling the Library into some semblance of non-fascist order, Alice is frazzled and ready to snap.

 

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, they have no leads.

 

“Hey, Q, can we talk?” It’s Eliot, and Quentin knows this because ever since the Monster, Eliot makes a point of not sneaking up on people and Quentin makes a point of always keeping Eliot on his line of sight if he can help it. “Like, right now?”

 

He sounds hesitant, almost nervous, and Quentin frowns, wants to reach out and ask what’s wrong, say _yeah, sure,_ but with the weird stuff going on, being alone with Eliot is probably the last thing he should do. He doesn’t need Eliot to see a bowl of peaches and plums magically appearing out of thin air.

 

“I don’t think–”

 

“Yes, thank you, fucking _finally_ ,” Margo barges in, because Margo has no problem with sneaking up on people, “now take your perky butts out of my living room and go sort your shit.”

 

There’s no arguing with Margo and with Eliot looking expectantly at him, Quentin can’t find it in himself to say no. “Yeah, let’s uh, my bedroom?”

 

The sound of the lock clicking shut is _way_ more ominous than it has any right to be.

 

“Okay,” Eliot clears his throat, standing imperiously in the middle of the room, even if his shoulders are set in a tense line and the shadows under his eyes are stubbornly refusing to fade. Quentin sits at the edge of the bed, drums his fingers on his tights, and waits. “So, we haven’t really had the time to talk since, well, I was me again, and,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Quentin aches to erase the lost air around his every move. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

 

_Not now, please,_ Quentin prays, watching out of the corner of his eyes the doorknob faintly shimmer and click again. _Goddamnit._

 

“Eliot, wait,” he interrupts him, apparently startling Eliot out of whatever pep talk he had been running on his hand for this, “I think– the door, I think someone locked us in here.”

 

“What? That’s not. Margo wouldn’t do that– if you don’t want to do this, Q, we don’t have to.”

 

“No, no, no, I do want to know what you want to tell me,” he rushes to reassure him, but the lock thing is kinda pressing and Quentin has a hunch it’s got nothing to do with Margo or any of the others, so he tries to turn the knob, shaking the entire thing on its hinges for good measure. “But shit, it’s really locked, someone really locked us in here, I can’t– _damn it.”_

 

The spell he tries is one of the easy, weak first-year ones he learned in Brakebills, the kind that sure, works just fine on cheap padlocks and chains, but it still snowballs out of proportion like all magic is bound to do lately, and sparks fly from the handle far enough to burn the tips of his fingers.

 

“That should not have gone so bad,” Eliot frowns, taking Quentin’s hands to examine the burns, but he shrugs him off because there’s no time for that. Things could escalate at any moment, Quentin doesn’t know how it all works yet. “Okay, no touching. Message received, but how about we take a breather?”

 

That’s not– Quentin is fucking this up, damn it. He needs to get out of here before he makes it worse. He can fix this thing with Eliot after he fixes this thing with the whole romcom tropes attack. He can fix it, he can fix everything. It’s what he’s good at, after all.

 

But first, he has to get out of this room.

 

_“Margo?!”_ He calls, banging on the door, fully aware he’s sounding kind of deranged, “Margo? We’re stuck here! Margo?! Josh? _Anyone?!”_

 

“Quentin?” Alice’s voice is muffled and confused, and Quentin has never been more happy to hear from her. Okay, no, that’s not true, but it’s definitely on the top 5. “Are you– is everything okay?”

 

“The door seems to be disagreeing with us as of now,” Eliot explains calmly, studying Quentin with something very similar to concern. “Could you find a key or something of the sort?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll check with Kady,” she says, and the sound of her hurried footsteps fade into the hallway.

 

“Almost a year later, and we’re still searching for keys, hm?” he offers in a ditched attempt at lighting the mood and Quentin feels even worse for souring the situation in the first place. His fake laughter probably isn’t helping either.

 

“Guys?” Alice is back, saving him from putting his foot on his mouth again, “I found the key but for some reason, it’s not working? Kady says I should knock down the door with Battle Magic anyway, but I. I don’t think that’s a good option.”

 

Eliot and Quentin trade a look, both of them clearly thinking back on the multitude of sparks.

 

“Yeah, don’t, that’s not. We’re going to try to kick it down. Maybe. So, back off a little,” he warns halfheartedly, not really believing on his potential of kicking magically locked doors down. Hell, he wouldn’t bank on his potential for breaking _normal_ doors down.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eliot slips in between him and the door, hands in front of his chest, “if this door is _somehow_ spelled shut, I’m not sure kicking it down is going to work either.”

 

“Eliot has a point,” she calls, “you’d most likely only hurt yourself.”

 

“Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended.”

 

“I’m sure you would have succeeded, Q,” he says, condescending in the familiar way Quentin recognizes as entirely fake and it warms his chest to no end. “But let’s avoid any more injuries– oh, well, that’s convenient and not at all suspicious.”

 

The previously locked door swings open easily, revealing an alarmed and disheveled Alice at the other side. “I didn’t do anything,” she defends herself, standing like a deer in the headlights.

 

“Good! You’re still here, so let’s uh, go do that thing,” Quentin tilts his head gesturing the front door and pointedly repeating, “you know, _that thing,_ we were talking about?”

 

“Right, yes, let’s go. I have new information,” she adds, hopeful for the first time in the past weeks, “so we should go. Do that thing.”

 

They’re so bad at this, _Jesus._

 

“Not that this isn’t riveting,” Eliot says, and there’s something on his voice– Quentin wants to explain this isn’t what this looks like, he knows it sounds bad, but it’s not at all what he’s thinking, Quentin just doesn’t know where to even begin without sounding batshit crazy– “but you should go do your thing if it’s so important instead of parroting the same words over and over.”

 

They need to figure out this shit as soon as possible, _come on._

 

Quentin and Alice exit stage left.

 

*

 

The coffee shop they end up at is busy for a Friday afternoon and Quentin sits in a table at the back, sipping his latte while he listens to Alice’s rant on the possible ritual they could try.

 

“It says it’s supposed to reveal hidden things,” she shrugs helplessly. They’re both at the end of their rope here. “Like the Key, actually. So it _should_ at least give us some clue on who or what is messing with us.”

 

“But it’s dangerous,” he guesses. Nothing is ever easy and breezy with them.

 

“Well, yes. Especially with how things are right now, but I don’t see another way,” Alice sighs, tucks her hair behind her ear, “aren’t you tired, Q? It’s screwing up things for you too, I saw Eliot’s face today.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t fix anything if we’re dead. Maybe we just need to keep looking, are you sure there’s nothing else in the Library?”

 

She gives him a _look._ “Yes, I’m sure.”

 

“Then, I don’t know– _what the fuck?”_

 

In the wall beside them, a portal glimmers to life, buzzing with magic and energy and _stable_ like nothing ever is these days, but they have no time to be properly surprised before it’s sucking them in, throwing them down the rabbit hole without warning.

 

_Not again,_ he thinks, recognizing the trip from the last time he was free falling this path with Josh. Beside him, Alice just screams.

 

*

 

If falling into a corporate, office kind of setting had been jarring and weird as fuck, falling into a cozy, homely living room is tenfolds worse. Around them, the walls are painted in pastel tones and the couch has crocheted throw covering it with throw pillows adorning it. There’s a fireplace beside them with an actual fire going. The air smells like cookies and what Quentin supposes the witch's candy house must have smelled like when Hansel and Gretel first came upon it.

 

“Oh, sisters, look, look, they are here already!” The voice belongs to an old lady, dressed in a sensible old lady dress and wearing an old lady apron over it. The picture-perfect grandmother: her gray hair in a bun and laughter-lines around her smiling eyes. “Children, please, take a seat. The floor cannot be comfortable!”

 

“Who are you?” Alice demands, glaring fiercely at the old lady, “and what do you want with us?”

 

“Always so suspicious, Miss Quinn,” she tuts, seating in the couch herself, “no need for that here, I assure you. And you can set that fire iron down, Mr. Coldwater, it will do you no good here either.”

 

“I don’t– sorry,” he flounders, trading a confused look with Alice as he lets it clank to the floor, “just, where _are_ we exactly?”

 

“Our house, silly,” another voice pipes in. It’s another old lady, but the kind that might do yoga and travel all over the world and dye her hair red. If she told Quentin she’s got to cut this short to go skydiving, he’d believe her. She sits down beside the other old lady, grinning at them. “I hope the trip wasn’t too bumpy? I haven’t opened portals to your plane in a while, you see.”

 

“It was okay,” he offers, earning a jab on the ribs from Alice. _What?_ he mouths to her and gets a pointed glare in return.

 

“Please, sisters. You’re all scaring the humans,” yet _another_ old lady walks in, this time all dressed in darker tones. She looks more serious, austere than the other two– a widow, maybe, still grieving. When her stern gaze falls on them, Quentin shudders. “We are the Moirai.”

 

_Holy shit._

 

“I am the one they call Clotho,” says the first one.

 

“I am the one they call Lachesis,” says the second one.

 

“I am the one they call Atropos,” says the third one.

 

“Holy shit,” says Quentin.

 

“Are we dead?” asks Alice.

 

“No, child,” Clotho smiles indulgently, “it is not your time yet. Not this time around at least. God knows how many times we have spun your threads.”

 

“They make for such sad tapestries,” Lachesis laments.

 

“The beautiful ones always are. There’s beauty in tragedy, or so believed the Greek and I am inclined to agree,” Atropos adds.

 

Okay, so the old gods are batshit insane, it’s not like this is news for Quentin, but _holy shit,_ he needs some adjustment time here. “Wait, okay, so, why _are_ we here?”

 

“Are you responsible for the weird shit happening lately?” Alice scowls, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin.

 

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that, but first,” Clotho waves them off, clapping her hands together, “who would like some tea and biscuits?”

 

A loveseat appears behind them and an invisible force forces them to sit down, sliding forward until their knees are almost knocking on the table. In front of them, teacups appear alongside a tray with cookies.

 

“They’re delicious,” Quentin says, happily chewing on one. Butterscotch _is_ his favorite kind, after all.

 

_“Quentin!”_

 

“What? The cake was so good last time! You should try it– the old gods are very good at cooking.”

 

“Alright, kids,” Lachesis hits the side of her cup with a small spoon, calling their attention, “now to business. To answer your earlier question, yes, Miss Quinn, we are the ones interfering with your boring, dull little lives.”

 

“We were only trying to help you,” Clotho adds, apologetically, “give you the tiny nudge in the right direction if you will.”

 

“Help?” Alice glowers, unimpressed and still refusing to touch the food. “By making our lives hell?”

 

“Also, _why?”_ Quentin asks because this is a valid question, okay?

 

“Zeus asked us to,” Clotho says, shrugging, “and we do like to humor him every once in a while.”

 

“Zeus?” He echoes– he’s pretty sure they haven’t met Zeus yet.

 

“Yes, yes, Hades talked to him in your behalf,” she giggles, leaning in closer like she’s gossiping with old friends, “he doesn’t do that to just anyone, you know?”

 

“Hades talked to– _why?_ I mean, I don’t remember meeting the guy– the god, I mean!”

 

“He runs the Underground branch, Q,” Alice hisses, “still doesn’t explain why he would do that, though.”

 

Clotho rolls her eyes, sharing a look with her sisters, and it’s Lachesis that answers. “Because of what you and your friends did, dummy! You killed the unkillable! Those monsters have been a point of debate in the Olympus for a real long time. Someone would bring them up in council meetings at least once every two months and suddenly everyone and their mothers had an opinion! It always drove the Big Three up the walls!”

 

So much to unpack there.

 

“Hades bestowed his blessing upon you,” Atropos says, face unreadable, “we are merely carrying out his wishes.”

 

“Just this one time, though,” Clotho rushes out, “we like to think we are more like independent contractors. You know, outside the Pantheon and stuff.”

 

_God,_ he can feel a headache coming. This is way too much crazy before dinner. “Okay, okay, say we roll with that, what does that mean? Why were you doing all… _that?”_

 

“It means we are trying to speed along your happiness,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “out of your little family, you two were the ones allowing happiness to slip through your fingers.”

 

“You, Miss Quinn,” Lachesis sips her tea, staring Alice down over the brim of her cup, “turned down Miss Orloff-Diaz’s invitation because you are planning on leaving after you finish your latest project.”

 

“And you, Quentin,” Atropos tilts her head, saying his name gently like an old friend who hasn’t seen him in a while, “your thread has frayed too many times over this current life as it did again recently.”

 

“In the Mirror World,” he whispers, remembering the resignation he felt as he repaired the mirror and slowly understanding what she means by _fraying._

 

“Yes, in what you call the Mirror World,” she nods, “such a beautiful tapestry it is turning into. I do not wish to cut it off just yet. I think it needs more colors before it’s finished. Don't you? From what I have seen you will be given a choice soon, I wished to help you make your decision.”

 

“So you invaded our privacy,” Alice summarizes, voice tightly controlled, “and decided to fuck with our lives?”

 

“We did notice you both have been very resistant to our attempts on helping you two along,” Clotho admits, “which is why we decided to bring you here. Atropos thinks honesty would be the best way to go.”

 

“That’s because we were _freaking out,”_ Quentin can’t believe he’s having to spell this out, honestly, “because that’s a normal reaction when things start to appear out of thin air!”

 

“We are sorry for the undue stress,” Atropos says mildly.

 

“Very sorry.”

 

“Terribly sorry.”

 

To avoid answering, Quentin shoves another cookie in his mouth, risking a sideways glance at Alice. She’s sitting stiffly, hands gripping the hem of her skirt with white knuckles and her hair is a curtain hiding her face. This whole thing must be really throwing her for a loop, especially if she’s been meaning to leave as the lady said.

 

Quentin himself is trying to wrap his head around the fact that the Fates seem to be invested in his life, enough to have noticed his feelings for Eliot. Although he’s sure it’s plain to anyone to see, Quentin’s never been good at subtlety, it does make him think– “are you saying it’s, like, our destiny or something? To be with Eliot and Kady?”

 

Because as romantic, as perfectly fairytale-like it sounds, Quentin is not sure he likes it. This whole predestined thing kinda feels like taking their choices away, taking the merit and the weight out of all they did, all they’ve been through to find each other.

 

And Eliot’s choices have been ripped away from him for far too many times already in these past months.

 

But Lachesis only rolls her eyes. “You humans and your obsession with destiny,” she huffs, “what do you think we do all day? Sit around and play puppet show with you lot? _Please.”_

 

“Your kind has always prided themselves in your free will,” Atropos reminds them not unkindly, “your choices are yours alone. Clotho spins your thread, Lachesis measures it, and I cut it when the time comes. What you do with the time you are given is entirely upon you. Alice could choose to flee the city in a few months and you could choose to bury your feelings again.”

 

“Or,” Clotho says, setting her cup down, “you could choose happiness as it’s being offered.”

 

“We see what could be,” Lachesis tells them, “Hades asked us to be kind. The gods have never really understood that is not up to us. You kids make your own destiny, all we can do is try to nudge you in what we think is the right direction.”

 

“Life deals you a hand, you decide what to do with it.”

 

_Destiny is bullshit,_ Quentin remembers saying so long ago, a lifetime and a half ago, at the top of a cliff with a crown in his hands and his heart on his sleeve. So much has changed since then, but this has always stayed with him. If anything, knowing what he knows now, he believes it more than ever.

 

Hearing it from the mouth of gods is relieving, though.

 

“Will you stop now,” Alice speaks softly, quieter than she’s been all afternoon, “messing with our lives? It’s not helping, it’s only making things harder.”

 

“Please,” Quentin nods, “thank you for trying to uh, _help,_ but we’ve got it now.”

 

Atropos smiles her melancholic smile. “Of course. Our job is done, I believe. You have the tools to make an informed decision. There’s nothing kinder than that, the way I see it.”

 

“But before you go,” Clotho grins excitedly, “we have a gift for each of you.”

 

Between a blink and the next, a tapestry falls on their laps. Quentin’s is colorful with patches of darker tones, full of patterns that remind him of Fillory, swirling and changing before his eyes and– it shows a cottage in the woods, a little boy running around piles of tile, a garden, Quentin laughing while Eliot chases Teddy around and Arielle smiles fondly at them.

 

“Oh my god, this is–” the words get stuck on his throat, squeezing at his lungs and wrapping around his heart. _The mosaic timeline._

 

“Quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Atropos comments idly.

 

“And this,” Alice chokes, staring down at her own tapestry– it’s all in shades of blue, with geometrical shapes and hard lines. _Oh,_ her time as a Niffin.

 

“You died, in a way, and was reborn,” she explains, “your life as a Niffin is its own thread.”

 

_“Thank you,”_ Alice breathes, still not looking away.

 

“You are welcome, kiddos,” Lachesis winks, “this has been nice and all, but it’s goodbye for now.”

 

“Good luck,” says Clotho.

 

“Godspeed,” says Atropo.

 

“Off you go,” says Lachesis, and the world goes dark.

 

*

 

Because all gods are kind of dicks, the Moirai don’t return them to the coffee shop. Instead, they blink Alice and Quentin back in the apartment, in the middle of the living room where Julia seems to be retelling the dragon egg story to Eliot and Margo.

 

“Hey, uh, guys,” Quentin awkwardly waves his hand, smiling the fakest smile ever at them. “It’s kind of a long story, so, can we hm, can we press hold on the questions?”

 

“Has anyone seen Kady?” Alice asks, taking a step forward before thinking better of it and pausing, tapestry clutched tightly on her hands.

 

“She’s at the Library,” Julia answers slowly, frowning at them as if they are a puzzle she can’t quite solve. Fair enough, he supposes, suddenly appearing in rooms will do that to someone “Not sure when she’ll be back. Are you– did Penny drop you off or…”

 

“I have to go,” Alice says abruptly, whirling on her heels and stalking off to her bedroom. She slams the door closed.

 

Quentin clears his throat.

 

“It’s a really long story,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. In the couch, neither Margo nor Eliot have said anything, simply staring at Quentin as if things might go back to making sense if they wait long enough. Eliot looks less tired today, fully _there_ with them and not lost in thought, and Quentin’s heart skips a beat at the sight.

 

The tapestry in his hands is heavy, holding fifty years of memories and shared life, and Quentin misses Eliot terribly, even if he’s sitting less than a foot away from him.

 

He makes a decision.

 

_Why waste any more time?_

 

“Hey, Jules,” he says, breathing in deeply, “can I borrow Eliot for a second? Great, thanks.”

 

“Excuse me?” Eliot raises one eyebrow but lets Quentin pull him up and drag him to his bedroom. He sits on Quentin’s bed, watching Quentin pace back and forth. There’s amusement on his eyes, but there’s worry too, a hesitation that Quentin wants to kiss away. “You know, if you wanted to get me into your bed, all you had to do was ask, Q.”

 

“I– look at this,” he hands him the tapestry, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an effort not to fidget too much.

 

“Since when are you into Victorian decorations,” Eliot snorts, spreading it open on his lap. His fingers trace the patterns gently and his eyes widen as recognition dawns. “Shit, Q, how? I mean, where did you get this?”

 

“It’s an apology gift from the Moirai.”

 

“It’s a _what_ from _who?”_

 

“The Moirai– it was a whole thing, I’ll explain later,” Quentin promises. He needs to do this first. “I just wanted– I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he sighs, shaking his head and he looks so _resigned,_ “I understand, truly, after everything–”

 

“No, no,” Quentin rushes forward, sitting beside him, close enough that their knees are touching, and takes his hands. He needs Eliot to see he’s not afraid of him, not at all, on the contrary. Quentin _misses_ the casual touches, the little things– the Monster had disregarded his personal space so many times, now that Eliot is back, all Quentin wants is to have this back too. “It’s not. _that._ There was some shit going on, and I didn’t want to drag you into it, but it’s gone now. I can– _we_ can do this now.”

 

“Do what, Q?” Eliot asks softly, threading their fingers together and glancing down at them, “because from where I’m standing, you’ve been sending a lot of mixed signals.”

 

“I know,” he bites his lip, averting his eyes, “and I’m sorry. But I had a pretty interesting conversation today and I kinda want to believe that. So. What did you want to talk about earlier?”

 

Eliot regards him warily before exhaling, saying, “I guess I had a pretty interesting conversation too when I was stuck in my head.” The reminder of that time is once again enough to send chills down Quentin’s spine and he shuffles a little closer to Eliot. “And I promised I’d be braver if I ever got the chance. Q, that day in the throne room,” he runs his hand through the tapestry and Quentin knows from experience how soft it feels against your fingers, “it was the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to still want– I just wanted you to know you were right. I was scared and I ran away, but you were right. And I’m still in love with you, and I’m done running.”

 

This is– Quentin had _hoped_ but to actually have this, his heart is trying to claw itself free from his ribcage and Quentin just might let it, he can’t think of anything beyond the fact that _Eliot loves him._

 

“You know, I’ve been told today that destiny is pretty much just the choices we make along the way,” Quentin says, breaking out in a stupidly dopey grin, probably looking as lovesick as he feels, “and El, choosing you is like, the one thing I’m one hundred percent sure right now. So, be my destiny too?”

 

He cringes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Eliot only laughs a happy, soft huff and dares to smile. “That was disgustingly sappy and you are incredibly lucky I’m so gone on you,” he leans in and Quentin stops breathing, a thousand butterflies making a home on his stomach.

 

They kiss and believing this is his destiny is the easiest thing in the world.

 

**

 

Alice is nervous.

 

That in itself is nothing strange, but the fact she’s being nervous while sitting in a Hedge bar and nursing her second Whiskey on the Rocks definitely is.

 

Maybe she shouldn’t have done this, maybe they would both be better off without messing up something that’s working so well, maybe the Moirai were wrong, maybe Alice shouldn’t be allowed to make her own destiny because she has a tendency of making the wrong choices, maybe–

 

Maybe Kady won’t show.

 

Not that Alice would blame her after she had turned her down in her spectacularly awkward way two weeks ago. But Alice _hopes–_

 

“I really thought Julia hadn’t heard right.”

 

_Oh._ Alice looks up and Kady is there, beautiful and terrifying and knocking the air out of her lungs. “I wasn’t sure you would show up,” she says to fill the silence and tucks her hair behind her ears, hating herself for betraying her own nervousness. “Do you, can I buy you a drink?”

 

“I wasn’t sure either,” Kady tells her, unashamedly studying her for a long, drawn-out moment before sitting on the stool beside her. “But since we’re here, knock yourself out.”

 

Flagging the bartender is an ordeal since they don’t seem to like Alice here very much, but it gets easier once they see Kady beside her. She orders them both beers. “So,” she begins, reaching for the duffel bag she had left at her feet, “I wanted to show you this.”

 

“It’s empty,” Kady frowns, turning it inside out and back again, “what am I supposed to do with this?”

 

“Yes, it _is_ empty,” Alice steels herself, thinking back at her own promise she made after returning to this plane. _No running._ “I had started to pack, last month. But I put it all back, I want to stay.”

 

The suspicion in Kady’s eyes is clear, and it hurts Alice like a knife, but it’s not like she can blame her for this either. “What made you change your mind? You sounded pretty sold on your road trip.”

 

“It’s not that I changed my mind, not really,” she explains, ducking away from her eyes. It’s easier to bare her soul when Kady’s not looking at her like Alice is holding a gun to her head. “I always wanted to stay but– going away was the easier choice, I thought since I did it once, I could do it again and be happy.”

 

“Can’t you?”

 

_Can I?_ Alice knows Kady didn’t intend it as an accusation, not entirely at least. She genuinely wants to know. So does Alice, actually. “Maybe,” she admits. She always been good at being alone, it’s when she’s surrounded by other people that things get confusing. “But I don’t want that. I’ve been told today to follow my heart and well,” her cheeks are feeling warm, too warm, and Alice hopes she’s not blushing, “here I am.”

 

There’s a beat of silence where Alice doesn’t dare look up.

 

“Here you are,” Kady finally says, so soft it’s almost lost to the background music, and she risks a glance. The smile on Kady’s lips is worth every thorn bleeding her throat from giving voice to these feeling she had locked away on her chest. “So your heart told you to hang out in a Hedge bar?”

 

Alice laughs, surprising herself– though she really shouldn’t be surprised, Kady is good at bringing light out of her. “No,” she allows her own smile to bloom, “it led me to you.”

 

“That’s some corny shit,” Kady laughs, but she reaches a hand to pull Alice closer and her perfume is overwhelmingly addictive, and then she’s kissing her and Alice can’t think at all.

 

Today has been a strange day after a string of strange days, but Alice can’t say she regrets any of it, not when it ends with Kady biting her lip and tasting the whiskey on her tongue. If they all make their own destinies, Alice figures she couldn’t do better for herself.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> and hey, if you liked this you can send me prompts or come cry about this show on [my tumblr.](https://rad-hoodd.tumblr.com)


End file.
